Room For A Little One
by eStranglo
Summary: What I feel is a more realistic version of the Bathroom scene from from 3x03 - His Last Vow. Read and Review! :)


**Hi. This is my first Sherlock fanfiction so if my characters are OOC, please don't hate me! Sherlock is not an easy character to write after all!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I wish I did...**

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><p><strong>Room For A Little One<strong>

Sherlock stood under the hot water with his eyes closed, contently rubbing shampoo in his hair as his mind ran at its usual 'bullet-train' speed. That is what John called it once. Sherlock didn't find it funny and told John to improve his sense of humor.

"There's nothing wrong with my sense of humor, thank you very much," John had said, "Yours on the other hand…"

And that had led to a long session of banter until Mary yelled at them for not helping her with planning the wedding.

The wedding.

Sherlock hadn't been in touch with John since that day. And he knew John was angry for that… and the drugs. Sherlock had disappointed his best friend once again…

_Again_?

Well, doing drugs was disappointing. He got that. The '_faking suicide and not being dead_' part though, would it count as a disappointment? Or did it count as betrayal?

Sherlock shook his head lightly.

He will never understand what classifies as what – this was too human for him.

Back to the point: He couldn't contact John while he was busy on his sex holiday – or honeymoon, as everyone called it. And he couldn't contact John after because John had just gotten married, and was going to be a father. So John needed to spend some time with his wife. Even Sherlock knew that!

And then there was Mycroft. Sherlock wanted to punch a wall just thinking about his big brother. Not that he hated him. Far from that. He'll never admit it out loud, or maybe even in his heart, but Sherlock loved his brother. Mycroft was someone who would always be there, just like John. Though, unlike John, he was a big, fat pain in the arse.

And this whole drug thing meant that the surveillance will be doubled and there will be surprise visits and maybe even surprise kidnappings – the ones where a stupid black car will stop before him and Mycroft's PA will step out and politely ask him to get in…

Fine. He will deal with those. He had been dealing with those for years now.

The fact still remains that the drugs were necessary to get to Magnussen.

Sherlock's jaw tightened at the thought of that vile man. He hated him, he _hated_ him with every cell in his body. He would do anything to stop that man, anything at all.

He was pulled out of his thoughts at sound of knocking followed by the door being opened. He peeked from behind the shower curtain to see Janine stepping in, a huge smile on her face.

"Morning!" She giggled, "Room for a little one?"

He laughed a bit awkwardly and then mentally kicked himself for sounding awkward. He had no reason to be awkward. She was his… _girlfriend_ and a very important asset in getting to Magnussen.

His conscience, which sounded a lot like John, called him lots of names - very colourful indeed. It had been calling him these names since the day he roped Janine into this. And like every other time, Sherlock shoved his conscience in a room of his Mind Palace and closed the door.

Instead, the Consulting Detective smiled at Janine. "Morning," he said.

She shut the door of the bathroom and looked in the mirror, scooping her hair into her hands and tying them into a messy knot.

The five-year-old in him couldn't resist. Chuckling, he splashed her with some water.

"Ooh!" She giggled, staring down at the front of the shirt – his shirt – she was wearing, which was now wet. "Are you trying to get me to undress, Sherl?"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." He shrugged nonchalantly, returning to washing his hair.

He hadn't had sex with her, he wasn't going to. But even Sherlock Holmes knew that you cannot be in a "relationship" by just holding hands. Grudgingly, he had had to get physical with her - hugging, kissing, cuddling. It was very... odd.

"Well in that case," she starts to unbutton the shirt, "Would you mind if I join you?"

He smirks. "Like a lack of permission will stop you."

Which was true.

Janine was an interesting woman – not as interesting as The Woman, but interesting. She respected his wishes in some things, and liked having her way in others. She was confident, funny, flirty and not entirely stupid. Sure, she had her dumb moments – like when she refused to go to bed after watching that utterly ridiculous film about zombies, but she was able engage him in a conversation that didn't bore him. She didn't bore him.

That didn't mean he was falling for her. No. Sherlock didn't do love. It didn't mean anything to him. But if, in theory, he wanted to have a partner…

Then he would choose Irene Adler. He loved that woman just as much as she loved him. There was, is and always will be one woman for him. Irene Adler.

But if - in theory - not Irene Adler, then it would definitely be Janine.

Because spending this domestic life with her – even though it was a ruse – wasn't so bad. Oh, it was still pretty bad, but not _that_ bad. With a few changes, such as a ban on all the ridiculous films and the soppy phone calls, he could survive domesticity… maybe even start to enjoy it.

And that was mainly because Janine wasn't really a domestic kind of girl. Sure, she liked cuddling and kissing and talking… but she accepted the other, adventurous part of his life. She didn't mind when he abandoned her on a date to chase a thief or when he dragged told her to shut up and sit in a corner while he was solving a murder. She even agreed to be the bait for a killer who kidnapped women and then brutally murdered them. Of course he figured out where the killer was before that could happen, but it's the thought that counts.

Of course, there was Molly Hooper as well.

But he could not be with her. And it was not because she wasn't good enough. Quite the contrary, she was _too_ good for him. She was smart and pure… and he would damage her. He could never do that to Molly. He loved her. Yes, he loved her. But not the way John loved Mary. This was a platonic love. A love between friends. Molly deserved the best man, with a big heart full of love for her. A man who would give her a nice family, who would treat her with respect, who would never use her, who would give her a life filled with rainbows and fluffiness – and he wasn't that man.

Once again, Sherlock snapped out of his thought when he Janine stepped into the shower behind him. He turned around to face her, noticing with satisfaction the blush in her cheeks.

"Hello," she mumbled.

"We just greeted each other," he said with a frown.

She chuckled and leaned forward to capture his lips with hers in a soft kiss. "People do that," she whispered, "Greet each other more than once."

"Tedious."

"You would see it that way."

He had to admit, it was slightly annoying how she claimed to be an expert on him at times. Sure, he had told her many things that he didn't tell most people – his love for dancing, his love for dark chocolate, his fascination with Peter Pan – but that did not mean she knew him. But he let her think so. After all, it was vital that she remained under his spell.

His conscience – or John, as he usually referred to it – kicked the door in its attempt to get out and shout at him once more. He ignored it once again and focused on the woman before him.

Sherlock placed his hand on her back and pulled her against him, his lips against her ear as he whispered in a low, seductive voice, "I was thinking of keeping you here today."

"You don't have a case?"

"No," he lied smoothly, nibbling her earlobe.

She let out a shaky breath. "I have work."

"Skip it."

"I can't."

Smirking to himself at his seduction skills, he traced his lips over the side of her throat. "Call in sick."

"I can't," she replied, planting one hand firmly on his back and the other in his hair, holding his face against her skin. "I have work."

"What work?"

"Lots of work." She hissed when he bit her skin lightly, careful not to leave a mark, "Mr. Magnussen is in town tonight."

_Bingo._

He straightens up, looking into her eyes. "Is he?"

"Mm-hmm," Janine nods, running her hands up and down his back, "He has dinner with the marketing group of Great Britain from seven till ten at the Savoy, which means that I will be working late at the office tonight. There's no way he's letting us off early."

Sherlock saved the new information in his mind before putting an appropriate look of disappointment on his face. "So I won't see you for dinner tonight?"

"Sadly, no."

"I hate your boss."

"He does give me the creeps."

"Why don't you quit, then?"

She stiffened at that.

Sherlock was not surprised. Over the last month, every time he had asked Janine why she is working for Magnussen, she froze and a look of fear flashed in her eyes. Then she composed herself and brushed away the question or changed the topic entirely.

And that is exactly what happened this time.

"Oh Sherl," she chuckled, looking away, "Must you interrogate people all the time?"

It was simple choice: Laugh and continue this conversation in the playful direction she had steered in. Or stick to his question and for once try to figure out what Magnussen had on her.

Sherlock chose the latter.

"Do you really think I do not notice your reaction to my questions?"

She sighed. "I know you notice. But why can't you ignore them like the other times?"

He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, adding just the correct amount of passion and emotion needed for the situation into his touch. "You can tell me."

She bit her lip, slightly breathless. "I – It's nothing."

He looked at her for another second, his expression clearly saying that he didn't believe her before stepping back and rinsing his body.

"Don't be mad," She said softly, "I'll tell you if there is something to tell. I promise."

He thought about it. Her voice and posture said that she was telling him the truth. She would come to him if need be. Also, it was obvious that Magnussen had used Janine's pressure point against her, like he did with everyone. If Sherlock stopped Magnussen, then Janine will be alright as well. And to get to Magnussen, he needed her. _Best not to get into a fight, then._

"Okay." He put on his charming smile, his eyes soft and warm.

She reached for the soap, smiling back at him. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes. You know that, right?"

And 'John the conscience' burst out of the door, shouting profanities at the top of its lungs. Funnily enough, when the real John will find out what Sherlock did to Janine, his reaction will be the same. He might even throw in a punch. Sherlock almost winced at the thought. John may be short, but he knew how to throw a damn good punch.

"Hmm." He allowed himself to stand there silently for a few moments, gladly listening to conscience-John. He really was a pig for what he was doing to this woman. While he liked her, he had no interest in her whatsoever.

Considering Irene, Janine or Molly in theory was just that – a _theory_. One he would never test. One he didn't want to test. Because he was happy the way he was. There was no room for dating, or sex or children in his life.

Sherlock Holmes didn't do love. He didn't want to do love. He was happily married to his work, and logic and reason were the only things that mattered to him. That is the reality and that will always remain the reality.

So it was a good thing that he had a meeting with Magnussen in a few hours. The sooner this – this ruse with Janine ended, the better. He knew he was going to leave her scarred but he wanted to prevent further damage if he could. He was a pig. He wasn't Magnussen!

Taking a deep breath, he looked at Janine. "We'd better get out or John would wonder what we're up to. He's still outside."

"You should have seen his face when he saw me walk out of your room!"

"I still will," Sherlock steps out of the shower and reaches for a towel, "When John is dumbfounded, his expression stays the same for quite a long time."

She giggles, washing the soap off her body. "You go ahead. I'm right behind you."

Without a backward glance, Sherlock opened the connecting door to his bedroom and stepped through, going towards his closet, mentally bracing himself to face his best friend's undoubtedly ridiculous questions and later, Charles Augustus Magnussen, the king of blackmail.

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><p><strong>There. I hope you liked it. Do let me know. Reviews are welcome... and greatly appreciated! :)<strong>


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